


Slow Rise, Early Start

by EyesOfDolls



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: A bit sappy, Gen, au where roman has to recreate the imagination each time he gets there, it's a decription driven thing not plot/or character, nothing too bad, roman being proud of his work/ roman, small quick thing to tide me over as i write my other roman wips, some metions to bruises/scarring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 09:57:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19104811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyesOfDolls/pseuds/EyesOfDolls
Summary: Roman has to recreate the imagination each time he sinks into it and it's a process he's come to enjoy





	Slow Rise, Early Start

It was night, a summer night, and the world was very much alive.

Easing into the imagination was like a slow waking dream as if resting on the edge of forgetting and remembering.

To make the sky, he dipped into the bodies canvas, mixing the touch of burns streaking Thomas's skin and the dip of bruises into soft rising pinks and blues. He shaped stars from sun-kissed freckles, he shaped slow drifting planets from wounds. 

It was a while before he drifted back to earth. It was barren for now, but he could feel it's pulse shape.

For the river, he dipped into memories. Picking through the day, the month, the life for the wants.

Wants easy to miss, slipping through the cracks or conveniently forgotten behind an old yearbook or loved toy.

Easy to forget and unsee.

Roman saw so much that he honestly had trouble grasping at what he was seeing. It all flickered through him, unfiltered in a jumbled mess, only to be picked up, shined, and cradled until it was time.

He grasped soft sinking sands from curious glances and sinking shame. With more effort, he drew forth the cool, deliberate grip of a sleeping current, ready to drag him in deeper. Too loud comments, too rushed lies, all too deliberate tales that coiled beneath the Imagination, tossed aside to swim in another day. 

He took extra care to nestle it under colorful pebbles and shiny scales.

Next was the forest. A forest was many things, but not everything without the needed care. Although strips of green spirals and streaks began to dot the landscape, roots only settled when the small buzzing lights weaved from him. Each winged critter inspecting an idea before moving to the next. 

It wasn't long before the curious tuffs began weaving slow and steady towards the sky.

Some were rather exuberant, growing fast and pretty but flickered easily from a breeze. There were a lot of these. An almost endless entanglement of gold-laden branches crisscrossing the sky with their rich, waxy leaves.

Roman took care to each without fail.

He wouldn’t fail.

Even a hint of a chance for light and gold to become solid to his touch was enough of a chance for him. A chance where the branches sit comfortably within the stars, no longer reaching.

He’s touched them before, seen them before, climbed them to their tips and took in the Imagination as a whole.

Amongst the sky, you can see a lot.

He sees the endless stretch of stars and how far the forest sprawls. He can hear the rushing of water, jumping of fish, the waking of cicadas. 

The world was very much alive, at his fingertips, and his to reshape.


End file.
